


Sunrise, Sunset

by SilverCyanide (LemonFairy)



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 02:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12949245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonFairy/pseuds/SilverCyanide
Summary: Rikkai Dai has always been known for their peculiarities. PWP.





	Sunrise, Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> AGE IS UNDEFINED IN THIS FIC. Are they in canon? In high school? In college? Fuckin Beats Me, I'm not concerning myself with it, but if that bothers you, don't read. 
> 
> Also, DUB CON tagged because consent isn't 100% explicit here in most situations. 
> 
> tl;dr on this fic: I just wanted the team banging Akaya. xoxo

It starts with Marui and Jackal.

They and Kirihara are hanging out at Marui’s house in lieu of the arcade, because Jackal doesn’t feel like blowing through cash. Jackal is on one end of the couch with Kirihara’s head pillowed against his thigh. Marui is at the other end of the couch with Kirihara’s socked feet in his lap. The trio is watching a movie, something with a little more plot than brute action, so Kirihara fell asleep half an hour in. He’s been quietly snuffling for some time. Jackal twists curls around his fingers; Marui gently strokes over the exposed skin on Kirihara’s ankle.

Kirihara wakes when there are fifteen minutes left, but doesn’t open his eyes. Instead, he sits and enjoys the calming sensations of his seniors’ hands. He knows if he wakes properly they will pull away.

When the movie ends, neither Jackal nor Marui budge.

“He’s cute,” Marui says quietly into the silence. Jackal’s hand in Kirihara’s hair stills. “Do you think he’d let us--?”

One of Jackal’s hands traces down to the nape of Kirihara’s neck, raising goosebumps, Kirihara shivers at the sensation. Jackal breaks into a grin.

“I’d say he’s amenable. Ne, Akaya?”

His bluff called, Kirihara peaks an eye open.

“Hmm?” he hums, voice a little rough from sleep. Marui squeezes his ankle, then lifts Kirihara’s feet from his lap. Kirihara whines in the back of his throat. Jackal chuckles.

“Sit up,” Marui instructs. Kirihara whines again.

“Here.” Jackal nudges Kirihara. “At least roll over.” This time Kirihara complies, shifting so he is lying face up with his head in Jackal’s lap. Marui grins, cat like.

“Much better,” he says, licking his lips. He straddles Kirihara. The younger teen attempts to flail, but Marui’s weight keeps him in place.

“Marui-senpai,” he breathes. Jackal ruffles his hair.

Marui leans in close, right next to Kirihara’s ear, and says, “‘Bunta’ is just fine.” Before Kirihara can response, Marui bites at Kirihara’s earlobe. Kirihara squawks.

“S-senpai!” Instead of gracing him with a response, Marui just flicks his tongue out and traces the shell of Kirihara’s ear. Jackal has resumed petting Kirihara’s hair.

“Wh-what are you--?” Kirihara chokes out. Marui growls; Jackal laughs.

“Just relax, Akaya,” Jackal tells him. “We’ll take good care of you.” His voice has taken on an edge--an _implication_. Marui’s mouth stops moving. Jackal meets Kirihara’s eyes.

The room is still. Kirihara feels like his head is spinning. Then, Jackal traces a finger over Kirihara’s other ear gently, and Kirihara cannot stop the whimper that escapes him. He flushes.

“All right?” Marui asks, breath puffing against Kirihara’s ear. Kirihara shivers again, hesitates, and then nods. He can feel as Marui’s lips curve into a smile against his skin. “Good.”

Marui begins to place kisses down Kirihara’s ear, and behind it, and trailing down his neck. On the other side, Jackal’s hand trails featherlight touches across Kirihara’s forehead and eyelids and lips. He traces the outline of Kirihara’s lips, teasing him; Kirihara has half a mind to kiss his fingers, but then that hand is removed.

Before Kirihara has time to complain, it becomes clear that Marui has moved much, much lower.

“Bunta-san!” Kirihara gasps and throws his head back. Marui’s hand is over his dick, which is completely hard. Kirihara looks up at Jackal, who grins wickedly.

“Wanna blow you,” says Marui, giving Kirihara's dick a squeeze. “Please, say y--”

“ _Yes._ ”

That is all the affirmation Marui needs. He slithers down Kirihara’s body and pulls down Kirihara’s track pants. Kirihara's dick springs free, and Marui admires for just a moment, wrapping his hand around the length and squeezing appreciatively. Then, he takes Kirihara in his mouth as deep as he can. Kirihara throws a hand up to his own mouth, trying to muffle his moan, but Jackal grabs his wrist and pulls it away.

“We want to hear you,” he says firmly, a twinkle in his eye.

“S-senpai…”

“Lose yourself, Akaya,” Jackal commands.

Kirihara does. Marui bobs up and down on his dick. Marui sucks, cheeks hollowing; Kirihara squeezes his eyes shut and keens. Then Marui does _something_ with his tongue and Kirihara almost yelps as he spends into Marui’s mouth. It is all over far too quickly.

When Marui pulls back and sits on his heels, he’s licking his lips like a cat who got the cream.

“Fuck, I love giving head,” Marui says, sounding extremely satisfied. Jackal laughs, warm as summer asphalt. He continues to stroke his calloused hand through Kirihara's curls. Kirihara leans into the touch, purring in contentment.

“Senpai…” Kirihara blushes and hides his face against Jackal’s thigh. He tenses. They wait for him to continue, but he does not.

“Yes, Akaya?” Jackal says. He tugs Kirihara’s hair until the boy is looking back up at them.

“I should… you…” he mumbles, still bright red. Marui decodes it first.

“No, this is about you,” he insists. Then, with a smirk, adds, “Well, all right, sucking you off was also about me, but the point is you don’t need to reciprocate.” Some of the flush leaves Kirihara’s face. Both seniors feel as tension leaves his body. He is boneless once more.

The trio lapses into comfortable silence, bar Marui’s humming. Kirihara closes his eyes. Sooner rather than later, he emits a soft snore. Marui and Jackal chuckle but say nothing as they put their boy to bed.

 

 

 

Niou is next.

The entire team is out for fast food after a practice cut short due to a power outage on the indoor courts. Kirihara, who was mid-rally with Yanagi-senpai, is more than a little wound up still. He excuses himself to go to the bathroom, hoping perhaps he can get his jitters out by splashing water on his face or punching a wall.

Niou comes in as Kirihara is turning off the sink. He leans against the door of the second stall.

“Get in,” he says.

Kirihara frowns with wide eyes.

“What?”

Niou nods toward the stall. Kirihara doesn’t budge.

“Trust me.”

Kirihara does.

He enters, letting Niou squeeze in behind him and slip the lock shut. Kirihara turns, expecting to get an explanation. Instead, Niou pushes him down onto the toilet, straddles his lap, and crushes their mouths together.

“Mmmph--Niou-san,” he huffs against Niou’s mouth. Niou pulls back and rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” Niou says plainly. He leaves Kirihara’s mouth alone and instead goes straight for the fly of Kirihara’s uniform slacks.

“What are--”

“You’re wound too tight,” Niou says, before Kirihara can finish the question. “It’s making me anxious.” Kirihara wants to apologize, because he knows he’s not bringing the best energy to the table. Instead, he gasps as Niou wraps his calloused palm and fingers around Kirihara’s cock.

“That’s better,” Niou replies to the noise. He moves his hand, jerking fast and twisting his wrist in a way that is both similar and completely different from how Kirihara gets himself off.

Until this point, Kirihara’s hands have been hanging limply at his sides. As Niou jerks him, he clenches and unclenches his fists, grasping for purchase on nothingness. Niou senses this. Using his free hand, Niou pulls Kirihara’s hands up to the back of his hair. Kirihara’s grip is strong. It is Niou’s turn to whine.  
“Fuck, _yes_ ,” he hisses. His hand is still moving in firm, steady strokes along the sensitive skin of Kirihara’s dick.

“I can’t--I’m--” Niou crushes their lips together again, cutting Kirihara off. Kirihara moans against Niou’s mouth, and Niou takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

The sensations, all over his body, are making Kirihara’s flesh feel overly sensitive. Heat is running down Kirihara’s spine, shooting sparks into his pelvis and stomach. He grinds his toes against the tile floor.

When Kirihara comes, his shout is swallowed by Niou. He lets his hands drop back down to his sides.

Niou pulls some toilet paper off the roll and wipes off the mess on his hand. There is still semen, stick and wet, against Kirihara’s skin and atop his underwear, but it is not all over his uniform. Niou stands up. He unlocks the door and turns on the sink. Kirihara is still sitting, shocked.

“Pull yourself together,” he calls. “We can’t leave without you.”

 

 

 

Yagyuu approaches him not long after.

They’re on their way back from a weekend away training, and Kirihara is sprawled out on the last seat of the bus with his back to the window and feet up on the seat. Yukimura, Sanada, and Yanagi are all seated up at the very front behind the driver; Niou is four rows up from Kirihara; and Marui, Jackal, and Yagyuu are stationed in the middle. When Yagyuu approaches, Kirihara assumes it is to use the bathroom.

He does not expect his senpai to sit down next to him and whisper into his ear, “Stay quiet, or they’ll find out.”

Kirihara’s first instinct is to ask _what_ they’ll find out, when Yagyuu grips his chin and brings him in for a kiss. Despite their partnership, it is nothing like Niou’s kisses. This kiss is controlled and far from frantic.

Yet when they break apart, Kirihara is panting and flushed. He is half hard in his sweats, and the blood is pounding in his ears.  
“Yagyuu-san,” he begins, tentative, but Yagyuu silences him with another, shorter kiss. Then he shifts and brings his leg up so his  knee is pressing against Kirihara’s groin. Kirihara presses up, chasing the friction.

“That’s it,” Yagyuu says, teeth glinting. He lifts his knee just a bit, forcing Kirihara to properly buck his hips. Kirihara flushes to the tips of his ears as he does so.

Yagyuu teases Kirihara like this for some time, until Kirihara lets out a desperate gasp. Yagyuu presses a finger to his lips, but does not look to see if anyone has noticed them.

Kirihara, feeling bold, flicks his tongue out and traces it around Yagyuu’s finger. It is Yagyuu’s turn to choke out a noise, quiet as it is. Kirihara smiles, eyes hooded. The look goes straight to Yagyuu’s dick.

Yagyuu slips a second finger into Kirihara’s mouth, allowing the junior to lave his tongue around them and suck hard. Yagyuu keeps himself composed, though his breath hitches. He rocks his knee back against Kirihara’s dick, starts up a steady pace, and Kirihara bucks up against him He stays quiet, grunts and moans muffled by Yagyuu’s fingers. Then, Kirihara bites down, and the bright spike of pain assures Yagyuu that Kirihara has just finished. Yagyuu pulls back a couple of inches.

“How improper.” He grins, downright dangerous. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Then, just like that, Yagyuu stands, straightens his jersey, and heads back up the aisle.

 

 

  
  
Despite all of this, Kirihara does not anticipate the three demons of Rikkai Dai when they come for him.

Kirihara enters the locker room, exhausted after forty extra laps from Sanada. Everyone else should be long gone, so Kirihara strips down in the middle of the showers without so much as a towel. His clothes land in a crumpled heap. When Kirihara turns on the water, the spray is already hot. It feels divine on his sore muscles.

The water against the tiles is loud. So loud, that Kirihara does not hear the gentle echo of footsteps near the lockers. Ten minutes later, Kirihara turns off the water and walks, nude, to the main part of the locker room. The hair on the back of his neck stands up. Kirihara realizes, with startling clarity, that he is being watched. He swallows and slowly turns around.

There, perfectly dressed, stands Yukimura, with Yanagi and Sanada on either side of him. One alone would cut an imposing figure; all three makes Kirihara’s heart race.

On instinct, Kirihara turns and grabs--for a towel, a shirt, anything he can use to cover himself up. Yukimura chuckles.

“That won’t be necessary, Akaya,” he says, voice light and pleased. Kirihara freezes, back still to his seniors. “Shall we?”

It isn’t addressed to him. Footsteps start to fall. A large hand comes up to Kirihara’s right shoulder blade and carefully maneuvers Kirihara so that he’s sitting on the bench. A second hand--a different person’s--trails down Kirihara’s back, feather light. Yukimura appears in front of Kirihara. The captain looks him up and down. Then Yukimura bends down so he is eye level with him, places a slim, perfect hand on Kirihara’s left cheek, and leans in to kiss him.

Yukimura’s kiss is wicked, like poison and honey at the same time. He does his best to keep up, but Yukimura is always a step ahead, bringing pleasure where Kirihara does not yet expect it. Someone’s free hand dusts over one of Kirihara's nipples, and Kirihara gasps into Yukimura’s mouth. Yukimura nips his bottom lip, then pulls back, eyes shining.

Putting no time to waste, someone--Sanada, Kirihara realizes dimly, because Yanagi is visible out of the corner of his left eye--bites down where Kirihara's neck and shoulder meet. The pain is enough to make Kirihara whine. Yukimura chuckles again.

“My, my…” he says, sounding all too amused. Kirihara feels heat spread down his face and up his ears. Yanagi strokes a wet curl out of Kirihara’s vision. Yukimura turns to him.

“Would you like to do the honors?” he asks Yanagi lightly. Yanagi smirks.

“It would be my pleasure.”

Strong hands start to manipulate Kirihara, laying him back against the bench. Yanagi slips between his thighs, hiking them up over Yanagi’s shoulders. Sanada is sitting next to Kirihara’s head, straddling the bench as well. He crosses Kirihara’s wrists and grips them firmly in one broad palm. Yukimura straddles Kirihara’s waist.

Sanada kisses Kirihara. His lips are rough, just this side of too dry, but they move with such efficacy it blows Kirihara away. Down a bit, Yukimura is peppering kisses and love bites along Kirihara’s neck and chest and nipples. Kirihara squirms. But none of this is comparable to the feeling of Yanagi’s _tongue_ in his _ass_. He dips in and out, sometimes sucking, loosening Kirihara and making him writhe. His hips buck down, trying to get Yanagi deeper. Yanagi pulls back. He tuts.

“So needy,” Yukimura says, voice smug and smooth. He pinches Kirihara's nipple and twists. Kirihara keens against Sanada’s mouth. It is Sanada’s turn to pull back now. Kirihara's lips and face are flushed, his mouth spit slick, his forehead sweaty. He looks positively divine.

“Thank you, Genichirou,” Yukimura says with a hint of something fond. He’s staring at Kirihara’s lips. It lights a fire in Kirihara's belly, though he is unable to make his limbs respond. He settles for balling his hands into fists.

“Relax,” Sanada grunts, stroking his free hand down Kirihara’s forearm. Kirihara closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and exhales. The world seems to slow for a second. Then it goes right back to frantic as Yukimura frames the junior’s face and kisses him senseless again while Sanada tugs at his hair. Kirihara is so distracted by the feel of his captain’s tongue and vice-captain’s hand, he has no time to prepare for Yanagi to slip a slick finger into his ass.

The pressure and fullness is unlike anything Kirihara has experienced before; he has never gotten himself off this way. Yukimura swallows his whimper, but Kirihara follows up by throwing his head back and breaking away from the kiss, groaning with a shudder.

“Please~” Kirihara whines, breathless. Laughter from all three seniors fills the air, but it is pleased, not mocking.

“Genichirou, would you like--?” Sanada nods, the barest hint of a flush along his strong features. Effortlessly, Yukimura and Sanada trade places, though Sanada faces away from Kirihara when he straddles him. Then he wraps his calloused palm around Kirihara’s dick and, with firm, fast strokes, jerks Kirihara hard, until all he can do is come with their names on his lips.

“I suppose,” Yukimura begins, looking regal at the end of the bench above Kirihara’s head, despite his askew tie and tousled hair, “that another shower may be in order.”


End file.
